


A Hong Kong paymaster

by finlyfoe



Series: The Julia Files [2]
Category: Homeland
Genre: Background Relationships, Desire, F/M, Gen, M/M, Spy training, Surveillance, Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 10:01:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8139979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finlyfoe/pseuds/finlyfoe
Summary: “So we know the Hong Kong triads are infiltrating  the East Coast - and a juvenile delinquent is our idea of a Hail Mary?”Young Quinn on his first assignment and on the way to a new life -how PQ met Rob and got into special opsThe Julia Files are my take on Peter Quinn's backstory - w/in official lines.Please read "About a boy" first.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I changed "The Julia Files" into a collection of stories for more precise warning flagging, as suggested by a reader.
> 
> Many thanks to koalathebear for betareading - I hope even those who didn't dig Dar Adal's remarks on PQ's backstory will give this a try.

Carrie takes another look at the picture of a teenage Quinn and his punk princess. It evokes the promise of youth and innocence and something pristine that got destroyed somewhere along the way. She puts it away with a melancholy smile.  
Her hand pulls the next object out of the cardboard box. A thin piece of paper, part of a page ripped out of the Philadelphia Daily News, dated April 8, 1994, headlined “Rocker Kurt Cobain, a suicide at the age of 27”.

****

The win/win-nothing-to-lose attempt at sweet talking him is about as persuasive as the offer of donuts - not at all. The thought of having an alternative to his current life is what reaches John in the end. To get away from the whole mess that is Baltimore. But there's no way he's going to betray any of his eagerness to Dar Adal.  
Within the hour he's escorted back to the foster home by a broad-shouldered man. He is to pick up a few items - clothing mostly, and personal effects. The director of the foster home is waiting for him, someone must have called, and sighs: “What is it this time, John-Boy?”  
“Oh, he’s all good”, the broad-shouldered man intervenes. “He qualified for a special program, `Keep the kids off the streets´, that’s all. He’ll be back before you know it - three, four weeks at most.”  
“`Keep the kids off the streets´?” the director echoes and gives John an inquiring glance.  
“Yep”, the guy answers, handing an official looking document over to the director and then shoving John out of the room, “hurry up, kid, we can’t wait all day”, being his way of making it clear that the conversation is over.  
*  
  
Caleb watches John packing. “So you’re off for good? Made new friends, huh? Up for adoption are we, hon?”  
“Shut your trap. Where’s that fucking Iggy Pop-shirt?”  
“Laundry.”  
“Fuck you Cal, I told you to keep your fucking hands off!”  
“Can I keep it?”  
“No, it’s mine.”  
“No it’s Dale’s.”  
“Yeah, well he’s gone.”  
“Yeah and so are you.”  
“Bullshit.”  
At least that douchebag hadn't touched his Nirvana-shirt. Got by now he’d be in a hell of trouble if he had…  
John is already at the door, when Cal speaks again. “Hey Johnny… be good…”  
John gives an obviously bored sigh, how lame, then reconsiders. “You can borrow it. Till I’m back.” -  
“Thanks dude. Guess I don’t wanna see you back then.”  
They laugh. They've seen so many kids come and go, they know better than too get too attached.  
*

They leave the city by way of highway number one.  
“Where are we heading?”  
“North.”  
John looks out of the window.  
Rob puts a tape in the tape deck.  
John recognizes the starting beats of the latest Nirvana-album, In utero. Fucking great music…  
“You like it, kid? The music?”  
John shrugs.  
His mind starts to drift. He closes his eyes and thinks about Julia - not too much, not in too much detail, not with this guy so close and awake. He suddenly realizes that he's dead tired - it had been a rough night at the police station.  
Within minutes, he's out.

When he wakes up, he has no idea how long they’ve been driving or where they might be heading. It takes a moment for him to realize what woke him up: The car has stopped, the engine has been turned off. They're on a dirt road, the sky above them is pitch black and the car lights illuminate a huge gate with barbed wire fence ahead of them. It looks like a military compound but there are no signs indicating battalion, division, unit signs. A clandestine compound.  
The driver hums to himself while opening the car-window. A dark-clad silhouette comes up to the car, a torch flashes, a voice says “Fuck, Rob, lost again, huh?!”  
“Sorry to interrupt you while you were scratching your balls, Nat.”  
The gate opens, Rob restarts the ignition. The car rolls in. The gate closes.

  
After he's parked the car, Rob ushers John in to a building with a low roof, unlocks a door and points to a bunk bed: “Make yourself comfy kid. But first let’s grab a bite…”  
Without turning on any lights, he leads the way through the dark to a small kitchen and opens the fridge. Finally, some light! He takes out two sandwiches and hands one to John: “Tuna. You look like a tuna guy.”  
They start munching in silence, leaning against the kitchen counter. The building seemed deserted before, but now John hears voices. Male voices. Hoarse laughter. Rob's noticed as well. “Looks like the boys are still awake. Gotta say hi. You'd better go unpack and go to bed, I’ll wake you at 5.30 …”

  
So now John's on his own, in the dark. Now and again he hears a rough voice and some distant laughter. It’s ok though. He prefers to be here on his own, to finally have some privacy to think some more about Julia.  
Jules.  
The huge earrings… how they dangled and touched her skin while she was talking rapidly. He remembers her torn stockings on spindly legs. The miniskirt – the material had been nice… velvety, he has no idea what it was called but it had sure felt nice. Her face… so pretty… the mouth, the way she pursed her lips, slightly sulky … cute… dark brows, really dark and furrowed when she realized … what he was up to… all that kohl around her dark eyes. Bambi eyes…  
The way she'd stood there against the wall when he came up to her with their drinks…  
He tries to save the best till last … lingering and thinking back, savoring all of the lesser details, recalling all of their words but finally he gets there… the kiss. He thinks back on the way she smelled, all fragrant vanilla and … her tongue in his mouth, all smooth against his tongue, sliding over his teeth, exploring his mouth intimately … the taste of her …  
Even just thinking about it makes him warm … something inside of him tightening as he gets an erection. It's for this reason he wanted some privacy. So that he could indulge… with no distraction from some snoring room-mate only a few feet away. His right hand slides into his pants, gripping his cock firmly. He's alone … there's no need to be stealthy, fast and quiet. As his hand quickens, he imagines Jules … imagines how he’d slide her ripped oversized t-shirt from her slim shoulders … how he’d touch her bare skin with his lips. He tries to imagine how she might shiver and how her small hand with its heavy silver rings might touch his cock, shyly, as if only by chance. He thinks about what she’d whisper in his ear and how he’d ask her nicely and breathlessly to touch him harder, to move faster… As he's on the brink of coming, a stifled groan building up in his throat, he suddenly realizes all of a sudden he’ll never see her again.

While John is lost in self-induced pleasures, Rob and his mates are having a late night drink.  
Eric, looks and behavior very Viking, hands out the beer. He throws a bottle at the next guy in line without any warning. Those who are still able to catch it have earned their drink. The others have to stick to soft-drinks - and clean up the mess. They all consider it a sensible method of work allocation. They're heading out tomorrow, off to a new assignment and have to keep a clear head. Well - not all of them: Rob has to stay back. He has a different assignment.  
“Fuck me, Rob, how’s life as a babysitter?”, Eric teases and uses a lighter to open the beer-bottle, patently ignoring the bottle-opener on the table.  
“Great, just great. Glad I don’t have to listen to your bullshit for a change…”  
“I don’t know - a kid to get at the Hong Kong paymaster?” It’s fucking Adrian of course, raising the question the others don’t want to hear.  
There is a brief moment of silence.  
“Oh come off it… it’s not like Adal snatched him out of kindergarten…”, Rob mumbles.  
“Which gives us the right to sell him to a pervert.”  
Eric and Rob exchange pissed-off looks.  
“He has a point”, quiet Wesley speaks up which comes as a surprise. “So we know the Hong Kong triads are infiltrating the East Coast - and a juvenile delinquent is our idea of a Hail Mary?”  
“Yeahyeahyeah, whatever… So: Anyone another beer?”  
Wesley’s not done yet. “Sure we don’t want the tongs to spread all over the country. Sure we have to keep them in check and urgently need surveillance. Sure their ranks are closed and traitors don’t survive. And that’s exactly why we shouldn’t bring a kid in. I mean: A teenager?!”  
Eric rolls his eyes and grabs the next beer, then throws another bottle to Rob who catches it easily. “Any better ideas? …”  
Shrugs. Silence.  
Eric huffs. “Rob will get him A plus ready – everything will be neat…”

*

At 5:30 am, Rob appears at John’s bedside, shouts “Wake up call” and throws a bundle of sports clothes at him. “Morning jog in 10 minutes time, use your own trainers… Gogogo!” John is too tired to even consider putting up any form of resistance.  
They run, they work out, they shower, they have breakfast.  
“Didn’t know I signed up for a bloody military training”, an exhausted John mumbles over his cereal.  
“Paramilitary training, if at all. We are special - activities. And we need you to be fit.”  
“Special activities…” John chews on and gives him a curious glance, “…like what?”  
“Well, a bit of this and that…”  
“What’s the this and that I am in for?”  
Rob gets up with a smile. “Do the dishes, I’ll be back in 10 minutes time to show you around.”  
So John reaches for the detergent, then pauses and looks around for the dishwasher instead. There has to be a dishwasher - no way special forces guys are doing their own dishes on a regular basis…

*

A large industrial hall, completely empty apart from a red Ferrari. John gazes at it in awe.  
“Your playground”, Rob hands John a small electronic device, about the length of his thumb. “What you’re gonna do is… - hide this thing inside the Ferrari. You gotta do it for real, after we’ve finished your training. You’ll do some work indoors as well so we have a selection of furniture for you to work on.”  
John eyes the device. “What is it? Is it- I mean, you don’t blow anyone up, or do you?”  
“Would it make a difference?”  
John is exasperated.  
“Just kidding. Who’d blow up a Ferrari… It’s all safe. For surveillance only. Tapping. A transmitter.”  
“Who are you gonna tap?”  
“Just fucking get started, kid.”  
So John does.  
All day long John does nothing but plant the small electronic device in the very same car.  
It’s not as easy as it sounds. He has to figure out for himself the best place to position it - invisible but accessible, not too close to any vibrating parts which might affect the transmission.  
In the evening, after a silent dinner - microwave-reheated MREs - Rob tries to make friends. Or maybe he does it for sheer boredom.  
“Wanna play a video game?”  
“What games do you have?” John sounds more eager than he wants to let on.  
“Pacific Strike ain’t bad… ”  
“What is it?”  
“A flightsimulator… WWII combat… Or Battle Frenzy…”  
John grins: “You guys play war in your off-time? You sure love your job….”  
“We sure do… What about you? Any ideas about your future?”  
John shrugs.  
Rob starts the computer.  
“The military ain’t too bad. Provides stability, offers opportunities, you know. Especially for smart kids with … less of a background. You’ll get used to the workout. What do you reckon?”  
“I ain’t much of a get-up-early freak. I hate people shouting at me. I'm not too keen on low crawling in the mud and I detest push-ups and running and sit-ups and all the other things you made me do. So I guess I'd better find something else to do.”  
“Christ, that was the longest I ever heard you speak”, Rob observes, his grin broadening. “Just for the record: The ladies love a special forces guy. You got a girl, Johnny?”  
“What for?”, John replies warily, ostensibly focusing on the flickering lights of the monitor.

*

On days two to four he is taken into another large hall used as a storage-room for furniture. King-size beds, lots of shelves, wardrobes, tables and stuff John doesn’t even have a name for. Same deal. His job is to hide the device somewhere in here. Everywhere in here. Rob leaves the room and comes back when he assumes John is done. In the beginning it takes him only minutes to detect the device, but it gets considerably tougher for him.  
On day four, around noon, Rob gives up: The device is nowhere to be found. Brimming with almost paternal pride, he slaps John’s back and suggests they watch a movie, “The fugitive”, on laserdisc… They have popcorn and beer, yeah, Rob allows him a beer, just one, because he did good, and hands him a 0,0 % Bud. John rolls his eyes: He should have gotten used to Rob’s jokes by now… He likes the film though.  
On day five, John finds himself facing the Ferrari again.  
“What?! I can do this in my sleep by now, how long do I have to go on with a-“  
“You’re a sleepwalker, kid?”  
John throws him an angry glance.  
“OK John, so you think you can do this, no matter the circumstances? Because that’s what we need - someone who functions no matter what.”  
John nods.  
Rob takes out a black piece of cloth, “OK then, try it blindfolded,” and he slides the hood over John’s head.  
John is irritated. So Rob wants to be a smartass? Fine. No problem! - He takes a deep breath and gets in. He knows this car by heart - he only has to concentrate for a moment to bring up an inner picture. His right hand gingerly touches the door handle, his left searches for the gear shift to orient himself. OK, good. It’s not too difficult if he focuses…  
“Not too bad.” Rob sounds genuinely surprised. “Guess you’re about ready for the lion’s den…”

**

  
“Life’s a fucking joke”, the drunkard blurts out.  
It’s pretty high up here, and John wonders why they admitted a drunkard to the City Hall. The man starts swaying, bumping against the balustrade and heavily leaning over… John tries to decide whether he needs to grab the man and pull him back. He’s not too keen on touching strangers. Even when they're not intoxicated and scruffy. Not that he of all people has a right to complain: He hadn't had a shower in - what - five days? Life’s a fucking joke indeed.  
From up here, the view is spectacular: All of the city right at his feet. Philadelphia. The city of brotherly love.  
Julia must be somewhere down there. So close yet completely out of reach. It drives him absolutely crazy. The only person he’d die to see again… and he doesn’t know her surname or where to find her. Another fucking joke.  
They dragged him here, this Mr. Adal and his crowd, and for what? To impersonate a street kid. After years of being on the brink of turning into one… Being shunted between foster homes and his mother's home, here he is, out on the streets of Philadelphia, because some grown-ups, some public servants think it's a good idea. Mr. Adal shooing him out over Easter, into this strange city, for the greater good. It s an act, all of it, but it feels fucking real if you are cold at night and hungry during the day and on edge all the time.  
And that’s not the worst part.  
Being the bait is.  
Sitting here like a tethered goat, waiting.  
Oh he was assured they’d have an eye on him. However that might work. All he's required to do is to hang around, close to this park, cos that’s where the guy will try to pick him up. Someone rich, someone powerful. A key member in a criminal ring, Mr. Adal didn’t bother to mention his name, only called him the Hong Kong paymaster. Mr. Adal needs that man surveilled and he can’t get to him, so it’s up to a pretty boy, that’s what that woman said. Christine.

  
“He fancies guys like you, John,” was how she put it.  
“What do you mean, guys like me? What am I?”, he had asked, slightly irritated.  
“Quiet, Caucasian, a little lost, kinda pretty boy.”  
For a moment, John had been too stunned to speak.  
“So fancy means he wants to fuck me?” His voice less steadfast then intended.  
“No worries, we’ll have an eye on you. That is, unless you’d like him to fuck you…”  
“Christine, shut the fuck up!”, Rob had roared.  
“Oh don’t be so uptight, Rob. Just kidding. And anyway, gay is ok, remember? - No offense, honey - you’ll be fine.“

*

They've given him some money, not too much though because it would be too risky, inviting theft and robbery they told him. His guess is they are afraid he might run away with it.  
Leaving the City Hall, he decides to enjoy the last beams of a late afternoon sun on his favorite park bench. High time to go back to the park anyway. He sits down, closes his eyes and takes in the noises of the city. Distant voices. Kids'  laughter. A motor-bike. A car. A roaring car. Very loud, very close.

Somehow he knows right away: It’s doomsday. The Ferrari. As he opens his eyes, he spots a bright yellow Ferrari parked just across the street. There can’t be too many yellow Ferraris around town, so chances are: The game is on.  
The driver seems to be fiddling with a car phone. John closes his eyes again. Waiting. His heartbeat races, his hands are shaking slightly.  
A shadow falls on his face. He opens his eyes.  
The Hong Kong paymaster. He recognizes him from the pictures. A business suit-and-tie-guy, glasses, Rolex, handmade shoes, polite smile.  
“May I?” he goes and takes a seat, not waiting for John’s approval. He keeps his distance though.  
As if on cue, John’s stomach growls loud.  
The man looks over to him, a sympathetic little smile on his face. “Hungry?”  
John shrugs.  
The man takes a look at John’s shivering hands.  
“You're cold. How about warming you up.” He gets up and looks at John, all self-assurance and expectance.

_That’s how it works - that easy? - What if I just don’t move. What if I stay put, go on with this hobo life, till they lose their patience and send me back to Baltimore, detention, whatever._

No, rather not detention.  
So John gets up. He hasn’t spoken a single word. The man doesn’t seem to mind. He leads the way to his car, the flashy showy car, not once touching John. John feels for the bugging devices, five he has all in all, yeah, they are still there.  
What if Julia… Jules came around the corner at this very moment?  
For the briefest moment he finds himself looking out for her, he can’t help it. Then he faces the reality of his unpalatable present and folds himself into the passenger seat.

The man doesn't introduce himself and he doesn't ask for a name.  
The house he takes him to seems to be empty, deserted, not even a gardener around. This seems strange to John, he's always imagined that villas like this one would have heaps of serving staff.  
The man leads John into a living-room, larger than most apartments John’s ever been to, and gestures him to sit down on one of the large dark leather seats.  
“Let’s clean you up first, shall we, I’ll prepare a bath for you, you just wait here and have a drink to warm yourself up”, he orders, pours a glass of Scotch, hands it to John and leaves the room.  
John pours the liquid into one of the vases on the table (Ming period) and puts the now empty glass down. It’s not the time to play grown-up and supercool.  
There’s a trail of dirt on the white carpet from his trainers … so he takes off his shoes and sneaks to the wall, to hide the bug under the frame of one of the abstract pictures. Which sets off an instant alarm. In shock, he puts the bug back in his pocket, reconsiders and hides it under the large dining table.  
The alarm stops.  
His host comes back in, a mild smile on his face. Without even mentioning the alarm, he tells him: “This way.”

  
*  
The steam over the huge round Jacuzzi looks inviting.  
John locks the bathroom-door and relaxes for the first time since he has spotted the Ferrari.

_Device in the Ferrari: Done. Device in the living room: Done. Device in the bathroom: Done._

So three out of five devices are in place, that’s good enough, time to get lost.  
He tries to open the bathroom-window but it's barred and therefore offers no escape route. John walks up to the locked door and places his ear against the door.  
“Do you need help to undress?” a voice asks from behind him. John spins around instantly and finds himself facing his host, now dressed in what looks like a silk dressing gown while sitting on the edge of the Jacuzzi.

“I love my hidden door, it is always nice to surprise welcome guests”, he says and smiles.  
“I- I don’t want that”, John says, eyeing the man, panic rising in his chest.  
“You don’t want to clean yourself up?” the man says and comes up to him.  
“I'm, I'm not into men.”  
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. I promise I'll be gentle.” His gaze is slightly amused, determined and at ease.

John continues to hold his gaze, while fumbling with the door-lock. He's finally able to push open the door and rush out.

He runs through a hallway, turns right into the living room, right back to the door leading outside. It's locked.  
He curses, throws himself against the doorframe.  
“You’ll only hurt yourself, dear.”  
The man comes up to John, still relaxed and friendly, the infuriating amused smile on his face. All of a sudden his right arm moves forward, holding a piece of cloth and putting it over John’s face. The boy realizes too late what is in store - he inhales the chloroform and silently collapses on the floor.

*

Warmth. The noise of splashing water. The smell of thyme.  
John opens his eyes. He is in the Jacuzzi, half upright, someone supporting him, a hand in his hair.  
A sharp pain cuts through his head as he realizes what's going on. And whose arms are holding his naked body.  
The hand in his hair working in some shampoo, slowly, thoroughly.  
He considers to close his eyes and simply wait until it’s over. Let it happen, let his mind disassociate itself from his body, float about the scene and watch as if he doesn’t belong.

But then a graphic image appears in his mind, he can’t decide whether it’s a flashback or a flashforward or just his mind running wild: it's him, sprawled out on a bed, face down in the pillow, a heavy person, grunting and sweating, bearing down upon him. It’s so visceral he can’t take it - he grabs the showerhead, in one swift motion he turns around and knocks it over the head of his unsuspecting host and captor.  
The Hong Kong paymaster curses, blood running down his face. He has no time to react as John strikes a second time. The man collapses. John hurriedly climbs out of the Jacuzzi, the tiles are slippery, he stumbles and falls, his head missing the edge of the Jacuzzi by only an inch. Completely in flight mode, he hastily looks around, his clothes are nowhere to be seen so he runs out of the room. The purser grunts. Which is good, because it means he's not dead. It's also bad because he might regain consciousness and come after John who needs to get the fuck out of here.

He crosses the hall, the door to the master bedroom is ajar and he can see his clothes on a chair, folded neatly. Dashing in, he dresses hastily, deliberately trying to ignore the fact that the bed covers are pulled back and a tube of lube is sitting on the bedside table.  
He doesn’t lose any time by putting on his trainers, he simply grabs them and runs off. Shit. The door's still locked, so he runs back again, grabs the poker from the fireplace and throws it into the French windows leading into the garden with as much strength as he can gather. The glass breaks, he runs outside, barefoot, not noticing that he's cutting up his feet.  
He doesn't notice anything, not the lush garden, not the fountain, he just runs towards the entrance towards the huge gate. It's locked of course.  
He runs into the security guard's booth, the guard is nowhere to be seen so he hits every single button he can reach. The lights go on and off but the gate stays firmly shut. Panic rising, he rushes back out, throws his shoes over the gate and climbs up, it’s a fucking high wall and even though his fingers are grabbing at a barbed wire fence, he doesn't feel a shred of pain. Up high on the wall he takes a leap and safely lands on the other side, grabbing his shoes and running off, almost blind, leaving bloody footprints on the pavement.  
He turns into the next street, running, running until he suddenly crushes into Rob who catches him, “I got you, OK, I got you.” John's eyes roll back in his head and for the second time today he faints.

**

Whispering voices. Light flooding the room. The creak of footsteps on linoleum. The smell of desinfectant. Two voices, both of them familiar.  
“still…. it feels like I got my kid bro hurt…”  
“Don’t take this so personally, Rob. A lot went wrong…”  
“…on my watch…”  
“… on yours and Christine’s watch…. We knew it was a risk. If anyone owes that lad, it’s me.”

\- John opens his eyes. He finds himself in bed, hands and feet bandaged. He needs a moment to focus. He’s in hospital. Next to his bed are Rob and Mr. Adal, heads both lowered over a file. He sits up gingerly. Rob hears him and looks up.

“You’re ok, kid?” He sits down next to John.  
“Did it- do they work? The bugs?”  
“Perfectly”, Mr. Adal states without looking up.  
“Did I - I didn’t - or did I… the paymaster?” John whispers.  
Adal and Rob exchange glances.  
Somehow reluctantly, Rob goes: “Don’t worry… you didn’t kill him.” The way he says it makes John’s blood freeze.

Mr. Adal closes the file and comes up as well. “We - underestimated the situation so it would be entirely our fault, wouldn’t it.”  
John looks at him, then jumps up and runs into the restroom attached.  
The men hear him retching before he throws up.  
“Would you go get his discharge papers”, Adal says to Rob who takes the hint and leaves.

Adal does not enter the restroom but speaks from a distance: “So, I intend to keep my promise. Your last unlawful escapade will be erased from your file. Nobody will know about the night watchman and his injuries or about you breaking into the newspaper offices. Agreed?”  
“I really didn’t touch him. The night watchman. He fell, I swear.”  
“It doesn’t matter, John.”  
“It does. I never - NEVER hurt anybody… seriously… other than… this paymaster…”  
“Don’t worry. It’s classified. Nobody will ever bring it up... “  
A moment of silence. John rinses his mouth, dries it with a towel, then comes back in.

Mr Adal offers his hand: “Well then, John, you did well, thank you. Here is where we will go our separate ways. Rob will take you back to Baltimore.”  
John doesn’t take it. “No”, he says.  
“I beg your pardon?”  
“I ain’t going back. I want another life.”  
Mr. Adal eyes him, slightly amused.  
“I am not a fairy godmother, John…”  
“You owe me. A lot went wrong, you said so yourself. I heard it. I can do stuff. I can learn things. Ask Rob. I did well. You said so yourself.”  
He locks eyes with Dar Adal. Not a lot of people are up to this, Adal thinks with a spur of surprise.  
“You are far too young for my line of job.”  
“I ain’t. Let me show you.”  
The tiniest smile crinkles the older man’s lips.  
“You don’t know what you're signing up for, boy. Not all of it is - pleasant work.”  
“If it’s ok for Rob, it will be ok for me. And I'm not a boy … ”  
“A new name and cutting all ties, and I mean: All ties…?”  
“Fine by me.”  
“Years of military training and hard study? Rob’s not even done yet…”  
John simply nods.  
Again Dar Adal extends his hand. This time John takes it. It’s a deal.  
*  
John opens the door on the passenger side, throws his bag on the back seat and picks up a newspaper from the passenger seat so he can sit down.  
“Buckle up”, Rob instructs him.  
John reaches out for the seatbelt and suddenly takes in the headline of the newspaper, stares at it: “Rocker Kurt Cobain a suicide at age 27.”  
“Oh shit…!” John is clearly shaken.  
“Yeah… he'd been dead for three days before they found him… All fame and fortune and still… life is a fucking joke, kid.”  
“John, my name is John.”  
“Not for much longer, kid…”  
And Rob puts in a tape while driving off.  
It’s ‘Nevermind`.

**Author's Note:**

> Dates, headlines and album titles all genuine
> 
> Speaking of yesterday's heroes - take a look at today's H&M-catalogue (T-shirts, kids, 134-170)
> 
> http://lp.hm.com/hmprod?set=source[/model/2016/D00%200435783%20006%2024%206904.jpg],rotate[],width[],height[],x[],y[],type[STILL_LIFE_FRONT]&set=key[hmver],value[1]&call=url[file:/product/thumb]


End file.
